


Oh baby

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe: Littles Are Known, Baby!Tony, Daddy! Steve, Fluff, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Inspired by SailorChibi's Littles Are Known Stories, Little!Tony, Non-Sexual Age Play, Sick!Tony, Threw it all in there, all of the fluff, just all of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 04:13:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7920070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve comes home after being kept away for a time, hoping for a happy baby to be there to see him.  This was not what he expected.  </p>
<p>OR </p>
<p>Tony Stark is terrible at letting himself be sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SailorChibi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Decontamination](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5739328) by [SailorChibi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi). 



> This is ALL SailorChibi's fault. ALL of it. I hope she enjoys it. I know I did! I hope you all do to. Please let me know what you think! LTR

Tony leant over the workbench, frowning at the blueprint in front of him. He had to complete this chip blueprint, he had heard the disappointment and stress in Pepper’s voice when they spoke and she tried to tell him that he could have an extra week to finish, in light of the three Avengers’ callouts in the last week, callouts that had had to be managed without Steve as he was off somewhere doing other SHIELD things. The stress in Pepper’s tone, however, had directly contradicted her words, and Tony had immediately thrown himself into the lab, determined to meet the original deadline. 

That had been thirty-six hours ago. He was stuck, and he couldn’t find the way out. Then there was the throbbing of his forehead (which he refused to acknowledge), the itching, his burning and aching in his right ear and throat - nothing was wrong with them. If his hand kept creeping up to rub at his ear and tug on his earlobe, he didn’t notice, at all. The fact that clearing his throat (that was what it was, not coughing, not at all) caused sharp spikes of pain throughout his body definitely didn’t mean anything. 

He didn’t notice at first when someone entered the workshop. There were two reasons, aside from his physical condition, not to notice, but they could both be summed up with one sentence - there was no reason to expect anyone to come here. Firstly, the person most likely to be checking on him hadn’t been around for a fortnight now, and the other person who had a responsibility to check on him, or thought he did, was taking care of his own more immediate responsibility, by making sure Clint stayed in Medical until his broken leg was healed enough to move him. Everyone else who was in the Tower had their own things to deal with and no real reason to interfere with Tony. 

Tony jumped when his music - Kansas, at that point in time - suddenly cut out, and he whirled to find the person he most and least wanted to see standing in the door. 

A very large part of Tony wanted nothing more than to launch himself at Steve, at his Daddy, and let him make it all better. But the part of Tony that his father had trained to behave like a grown up, the part that had developed far beyond the Little he had only recently been outed as, stomped on that part hard. He had to get this done, which meant he had to get Steve to leave him alone. He was fairly sure that if Steve touched him even once, he was going to lose this fight, and he couldn’t afford to lose it. He had to get this done, he had to. 

“Cap,” he greeted gruffly, stifling the delighted ‘Daddy!’ that he wanted to shout. 

“Tony,” Steve studied him with eyes that were clearly very tired, but the concern there was the last thing Tony wanted to see at the moment. When Steve was worried, he didn’t tend to back off easily. “Bruce said he hasn’t seen you since the last call out. When did you last eat?” his tone was gentle, caring, the exact tone that could bring Tony’s little side roaring out with minimal difficulty, and Tony gritted his teeth against it. 

He thought about the question and realised he didn’t have an answer. He’d been busy, he hadn’t thought about food. Now, the thought vaguely nauseated him, and he swallowed hard. It took only a second for him to decide that lying was the way to go. “I had something sent from the kitchens a couple of hours ago,” he told Steve easily, forcing his voice to emerge as smoothly as possible, trying to disguise the hoarseness he had developed. “You look like you could use some sleep, Cap,” he tightened a hand on the edge of the bench to keep it from coming up to rub and pull at his ear, a sign that the other man would surely not ignore. “I’ve got to get this done, so why don’t you go get some?” 

“Tony,” now Steve’s tone was gently chiding, but Tony resolutely ignored it. 

“Go on, I’ve got a deadline that I need to meet, and I don’t need you looming over there when you could be getting some sleep,” he growled. 

Steve stiffened, a hurt expression flashing across his face before he stifled it and gave a slight nod.  
The guilt that struck Tony at that minute expression was almost crippling. He realised suddenly that this was the first time Steve had seen him in a fortnight too, and was probably hoping to find an excited, or at least needy, Little waiting to see him, proving that Tony really wanted him as his Daddy. And Tony did - or at least his little side did. His adult side didn’t want to need a daddy at all, but acknowledged that if he had to have one Steve was a good one to have. 

Steve was talking again, jarring Tony out of his thoughts, and he fully tuned in in time to hear Steve say, “…kay, Tony. I’ll see you later then.” 

There was a definite slump to Steve’s shoulders as he turned away, and Tony felt a lump forming in his already sore throat. He swallowed it down, though, because at the moment he didn’t have time for any of his body’s demands. He didn’t have time to be little, didn’t have time to be sick, didn’t have time for any of it. He watched as Steve started up the stairs, then turned back to his workbench, angrily rubbing the back of his wrist against his eyes when the image swam in unshed tears. 

Tony wasn’t sure how much longer he had been working for when movement at the corner of his eye made him flinch. He turned, his thoughts sluggish, and couldn’t help it when he screamed. Obie was standing in the corner, watching him. 

“I knew how it would be. A baby trying to run a company, and too squeamish to stick to what was making good money. Instead you’re trying to do this, and you can’t even do it right!” the man smashed a hand down on the workbench, and Tony whimpered, backing away, hands coming up in front of his chest. He backed away, breath coming faster, then as Obie took a step forward he turned and bolted, knocking things every which way as he ran. 

Tony crammed himself into a cupboard under a bench in the far corner of the workshop, pulling the doors shut behind him and buried his face against his knees, shaking and trying to contain the desperate sobs that were shaking his frame. He could hear Obie smashing things in the workshop, and crammed a fist against his mouth to try and stifle his sobs. 

He shrieked as the door of the cupboard was suddenly pulled open, his bladder releasing in his absolute terror. He saw hands reaching for him and tried to push away from them, Obie’s face swimming before his eyes. 

~~~@@@~~~

Steve headed back up the stairs, shoulders slumped. He had been looking forward to seeing Tony, to holding his baby boy in his arms, giving him a bottle and settling him down to bed before going to sleep himself. He had missed his Little intensely in the past fortnight, but it seemed that Tony had not missed him at all, and was dismissive of his return. 

Maybe he was wrong, maybe he wasn’t the best caregiver for Tony. Clint seemed to work very well with Coulson, but there was already a bond of trust there, handler to agent, before he was outed as a Little. Tony and Steve’s relationship were far more rocky, and maybe there was someone else who would be better with him, although most Caretakers would insist that a little be little all the time, and Tony would never accept that. Tony shouldn’t have to accept that, whatever the shrinks at SHIELD thought and tried to encourage Steve and Coulson to ‘work towards’. 

Steve stumbled up to the elevator doors and took the quick way up to his own floor, forcing himself to ignore the surprise he’d worked with both Pepper, JARVIS and Coulson to have ready for Tony’s return - a fully kitted out nursery, just waiting for his baby boy to enjoy it. The walls were decorated with a beautifully pained mural of robots (including Dummy, U and Butterfingers) on a pale blue background, and the furniture was all beautifully hand crafted from a dark wood that Steve had picked out. 

He turned instead towards his own shower, and managed to stumble through rinsing off and getting dressed in sleep pants and a t-shirt despite his exhaustion. He was just heading for bed when JARVIS suddenly spoke up, startling him. 

“Excuse me, Captain Rogers, but Sir seems to be in distress,” the formal words were at odds with the concern in the AI’s voice. “He appears to be hallucinating, and he is exceedingly upset. I believe it would be in his best interest if you were to return to the workshop now.” 

Steve had been moving as soon as JARVIS said the word ‘distress’, and snorted at the idea he would have waited for him to actually advise intervening. He double timed it back down the stairs and entered the workshop to find it a mess. Dummy was hovering worriedly over the workbench, beeping to himself as he pushed fallen tools one way, then another. 

Steve followed the trail of destruction to the door of cupboard which was surrounded by fallen bottles, fortunately none of them had broken as they hit the floor. Steve swept them aside and carefully eased the door open. His heart broke at what he found. His baby with his face pressed against his thighs, blood running from several cuts on his hands and arms, scrunched down into a space that should have been far too small to contain him. There was also a rapidly growing puddle of pee spreading around him. He peeked up when the door opened, and when Steve reached out Tony shrieked, trying to hit his hands away. Steve ignored them and gently, carefully prised him out of the cupboard. When he had Tony all the way out he suddenly relaxed and seemed to realise who Steve was, and then Steve was dealing with a clingy, upset baby who wanted nothing more than to glue himself to his Daddy’s chest. 

~~~@@@~~~

The hands were gentle but insistent as they drew him out of the cupboard, and then he was in the open and being drawn towards a very familiar looking chest, nothing like the barrel Obie used to drag him against, knowing how much Tony both longed for and dreaded the close contact. Instead, the broad, very muscled chest he was being tugged towards was covered with a dark blue t-shirt, and when he looked up it was his Daddy’s concerned face looking down at him. Tony whimpered, then lunged forward in his Daddy’s grasp and buried his face against his shoulder, arms clumsily trying to wrap around the bigger man without the dexterity needed to do so. 

“Shhhhh, baby, shhhh, it’s okay. I’m sorry, sweetheart, I’m so sorry I didn’t see how much you needed me before, I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention. Daddy’s here now, he’s got you,” a warm hand was rubbing up Tony’s back, soothing some of the ache that was throbbing through him. The hand came up to cup his forehead, and Daddy sighed. “I bet you aren’t feeling too good, are you, baby? You’re pretty hot, and your breathing doesn’t sound so great.” Tony whimpered, shaking his head slightly, and Steve sighed. 

“Well, we both need to clean up a bit,” he said lightly, standing and arranging Tony so that the baby’s legs wrapped around his hips, Tony doing his best to cling to his Daddy like a limpet. “I know,” he murmured when Tony whimpered again, smoothing a hand up and down his spine. “It’s okay, baby boy. I’m here, I’ve got you.” Steve stood and carried Tony out of the workshop and into the elevator, ignoring the rather inarticulate cries and faint struggles as they passed by where Tony had been working not long ago. The struggles died down, but the cries didn’t, and Steve grabbed a pacifier as he entered the apartment and gently teased Tony’s lips with it. The baby latched on instantly, his tears slowing as he sucked hard, burying his face against Steve’s shoulder. He was still dragging in breaths around the pacifier, telling Steve that his nose must be completely blocked. 

Steve wasted no time making his way to the bathroom. Once there was water running into the bathtub - no mean feat to accomplish as there was no way Tony was letting him go, any more than Steve wanted to put him down - Steve had to peel his little limpet away so they could both get undressed. Tony wailed when his Daddy forced him away, losing his pacifier as he struggled to get closer again, but Steve held him on his back and quickly began stripping his dirty clothes away, then removing his own. Soon enough, Tony was lifted back against a bare chest and Steve was stepping into the tub. He’d briefly considered a shower, but chose the other for two reasons - one, a soak in the tub could bring down Tony’s fever more, and two, Tony hated getting his head wet and it was easier for him to take in the tub than the shower. 

Tony whimpered as the cool water closed around his chest, and Steve murmured gently. “I know, I know, sweetheart. It’s cold. That’s because you’re hot. We need to cool you down a bit, sweetheart, to help you feel better. You’re okay, Daddy’s got you.” With more gentle, calming one sided conversation he soothed the baby through getting clean, including washing his hair which felt like Tony hadn’t touched it in the last fortnight, and getting out of the tub. 

He carried Tony, wrapped in a towel, into the new nursery and laid him on the changing table, where he dressed Tony in a diaper and a sleeveless, lightweight onesie. Then lifting the little once more had made his way into the kitchen, where he quickly mixed up some adult formula and added a measure of liquid tylenol, knowing that the formula would mask the taste, which Tony loathed. 

Tony whimpered against his chest, hand coming up to tug at his right ear. 

“Is your ear sore, baby? Hmmm? Well, lets go sit down and you can have a nice drink, get something in your empty tummy, and it’ll help you feel better, yeah?” Humming softly as he gently bounced Tony, he crossed to the rocking chair and sat, carefully arranging Tony in his lap, and rubbed the teat of the bottle against Tony’s lips. “Come on, baby, a nice bottle for you,” he whispered, squeezing out a few drops of milk onto Tony’s lips. 

Tony licked his lips, then latched on with a loud whimper and began to suck noisily. Milk spilled out of the corner of his mouth in his hurry, and Steve lowered the angle of the bottle slightly to slow the flow. “Shhhh, shhhh, baby, no rush, it’s not going any where. I know, you’re hungry, I know. How long’s it been since you had a good meal, hey?” 

“It has been almost forty-eight hours since Sir last ate a full meal,” JARVIS spoke softly from the ceiling. “And in that time he has not consumed much at all. Dummy attempted to give him smoothies, but I believe that the act of drinking one pushed him too close to his headspace.” 

“He hasn’t gone down since I left?” Steve asked, keeping the tone soft and soothing, knowing that infant Littles, like Tony, understood more tone and volume when in headspace, particularly when sick. He remembered the last time Tony had been sick with a shudder, and hoped this wouldn’t be as bad as that was, but if Tony hadn’t gone down in a fortnight in addition to being sick, starving and probably from the look of him sleep deprived, it could be bad. 

“No, he has not.” 

“And how long has it been since he slept?” 

“68 hours and 32 minutes, Captain.” 

“Oh, Tony, what am I going to do with you?” murmured Steve, brushing a hand through Tony’s soft, curly hair as the baby suckled on the bottle, one hand fisted in Steve’s shirt, the other still pulling on his sore ear. “Come on, baby, that won’t help you feel better,” Steve gently disengaged that hand and pulled it down to hold against his chest. Tony whimpered around the bottle, but couldn’t pull his hand away. 

With a gentle push of his foot against the floor, Steve started the chair rocking and began to sing softly. “I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream…” Tony snuffled his way through three quarters of the bottle before he fell asleep, and Steve carefully lifted him against his shoulder and rubbed his back until he burped before slipping a clean pacifier between his lips. He sat for a while longer, just cradling his baby boy, then stood and made his way over to the crib. He carefully settled Tony, raised the side of the crib, and set up a baby monitor out of Tony’s reach, since he had learned from experience that if Tony woke in an at all adult headspace he would stop JARVIS from alerting Steve, even if he needed him. Steve didn’t think Tony would be coming out his little headspace for a while yet, but he wasn’t taking any chances on him trying to slip away and hurting himself or making himself sicker. 

~~~@@@~~~

Steve woke to the sound of an upset baby coming both through the baby monitor and the open door between his room and the nursery. He pushed himself up with a tired sigh and, stretching as he went, walked through to the nursery, where Tony was tossing in the crib, letting out whimpers and soft cries as tears leaked down his cheeks. His hand was fisted against his ear, and his breathing sounded terrible. Steve cursed himself softly for forgetting to set up the humidifier, and quickly lifted Tony out, bringing him up against his shoulder. 

He crossed the room to the cupboard, only to find that the humidifier wasn’t where he thought he’d left it. He took a moment to think, then grabbed the vaporub and a large blanket and walked into the kitchen. “We’re going to have a sweat lodge, okay, baby? It’ll help get your breathing a bit better.” He put the kettle on to boil, grabbed out a large mixing bowl and dumped a glob of the stinky eucalyptus paste into the bottom. He grabbed a small side table from the living room and parked it next to a kitchen chair, then just waited for the kettle to boil, gently rocking Tony. He kept up a calming patter the whole time, swaying gently. 

Once the kettle boiled, he set the mixing bowl on the side table, poured in the boiling water, sat on the chair and carefully swirled the blanket around so that he and Tony were cocooned with the mixing bowl. The strongly scented steam swirled around them, and Tony whined, pushing his face into Steve’s neck, trying to get away from it. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know, it’s nasty, but it’s going to help you feel better. Shhh, it’s okay, Daddy’s here, don’t cry, baby boy.” Tony was whimpering and wriggling on Steve’s lap, but Steve just kept softly shushing him, rubbing his back and encouraging him to breathe in the steam. It prickled Steve’s nose and throat, and he did his best to sooth Tony through what he was sure was a far worse experience. 

Finally, the water had stopped steaming, and Steve cracked open their cocoon, taking a relieved breath of the cooler, dryer room air. Tony’s breathing had improved somewhat, and Steve now felt that he had the time to figure out where his humidifier had ended up once he put Tony back down, which wouldn’t be until after he had changed and fed him. He would also prop up the head end of the crib, because he wasn’t sure if this was actually effecting Tony’s lungs or not but he wasn’t taking a chance either way. 

With Tony on one hip - not the ideal carrying position for the male body type, but it left one arm free more than carrying him in front did - he made his way into the kitchen and set about preparing a bottle. Glancing at the clock, he decided that he could risk another dose of liquid tylenol now, rather than try in an hour when the baby would hopefully be asleep. 

They settle back in the rocker, and Steve arranged Tony against his shoulder with a burping cloth tucked under his cheek. He sucked messily on the bottle for a moment, then whined and tried to squirm away, hand coming up to fist around his ear once more. 

“Oh, I know, baby, your throat hurts and your ear hurts and it’s all awful,” Steve cooed gently. “Come on, this is going to help you feel better, sweetheart. We’ll have Bruce come and see you in the morning, see if he can do anything to help, but for now I need you to drink your milk, okay? It’s going to help you feel better too, come on,” with gentle encouragement, and mild physical coercion - keeping the bottle in Tony’s mouth when he turned his head, really - Steve managed to persuade him to drink most of it. 

Finally, Tony fell asleep, and Steve set the bottle aside and gently, carefully burped him - the last thing he needed was a painful gut along with anything else. He returned to the cot and carefully adjusted the base to prop up one end to help Tony’s breathing, then tucked him in under the light-weight blanket. He crossed back to the cupboard and found the humidifier tucked right in the back, pushed there by various other supplies. He set it up by the cot with eucalyptus oil in the water, then stepped back and ran a hand over his face. He was exhausted, and he would need to get some sleep before Tony woke up and needed him again, but at the same time he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from the side of the cot. The guilt was hitting Steve hard. If he’d just been a little firmer, if he’d said no even once, he could have been home over a week ago, and Tony would have gotten some rest, gotten something to eat, and spent at least a few hours of Little time, all of which would have strengthened his immune system and, if not staved this off entirely, at least decrease the severity of it greatly. 

Steve took a deep breath and pushed the guilt away. He couldn’t change what had happened (and honestly, maybe he couldn’t have made it back earlier. Some of those Senators had been real dicks, and the Generals…well, Steve could completely understand why Tony had called them what he did. He’d wanted to do worse, honestly, and he didn’t have the excuse of ‘low emotional threshold and poor impulse control’. That was, of course, what much of Tony’s life was now being blamed on in the media and by the well-meaning but misguided shrinks who tried to tell Steve how to deal with him. 

So now Steve turned away and went back to the bedroom, collapsing on the bed. Pulling his blankets back over him, he closed his eyes and employed that trick of a soldier - fall asleep anywhere, anytime, because sleep and food were two things you don’t know when you’ll get again next. 

~~~@@@~~~

Steve woke to the sounds of determinedly quiet rustling and the occasional grunt on the baby monitor. He slipped out of bed and padded quietly through the door that joined the rooms to find Tony poised on top of the railing of his crib having, in his current state of mental and physical debilitation, been unable to figure out the mechanism to lower the same. 

Steve cleared his throat softly, and Tony’s head shot up, eyes widening hugely as he stared at him, even as his balance began to go, sending him on a slow topple/slide towards the ground. Steve leapt forwards, managing to catch his shoulders so his head didn’t hit, but his lower body still crashed into the floor with significant force. He didn’t cry out, though, merely allowed a soft hiss to pass his teeth. Steve honestly would have preferred that he start to howl - it would have been a healthier response in their current situation. Tony’s behaviour said that he was fighting his headspace, hard, and that was going to send him spiralling so much deeper in not very long, especially when sick. 

“That must have hurt, huh?” Steve said softly, gently, as he carefully lifted Tony up into his arms. “What was my silly boy doing, not calling for Daddy, hmmm?”

“I gots…got work t’do,” Tony mumbled. “Pep needs’t done, gotta finish, m’behind…” 

Steve frowned, listening. Tony generally did have a hectic workload, it was a large part of what increased his stress and sent him crashing deep into his headspace. Before SHIELD had outed him as a little, Tony had frequently worked 100+ hour weeks, doing projects for SHIELD, SI and the Avengers in addition to being the main PR person for the Avengers and responding to any Avengers call outs or missions he went on as Iron Man. Steve and Pepper had gotten together after SHIELD outed Tony to the Avengers and the world, and they had worked out a structure to Tony’s work to try and keep him from being overwhelmed by it to the point that it would force him into his headspace, a real concern now that he was voluntarily starting to take down the barriers he had learned to hold against just such an occurrence. Despite their best efforts, however, sometimes things happened that just made it impossible to maintain that delicate balance. Still, he thought Pepper had said to him that she had pushed back the plan to introduce the new Stark phone to the board members (the possibility of it going public hadn’t even been raised yet) so there shouldn’t have been anything urgent. 

“Shhh,” Steve gently shushed Tony’s increasingly erratic mumblings about needing to work. A glance at the wall told him it was an acceptable hour, and he decided a quick call to Pepper was in order. “We’re going to call Pepper now, okay? Have a quick talk, see what she thinks.” 

Tony stilled in Steve’s arms as he thought about that, but Steve wasn’t giving him time to come up with any objections. “JARVIS, would you please place a call to Pepper?” 

“Of course, Captain Rogers. Dialling now,” the cool tones of the AI came back, and Tony just slumped against Steve. Steve brought a hand up to cup Tony’s forehead, then his cheek, not liking what he found. He really did want to get Tony checked out by Bruce, the ongoing fever despite the anti-pyretic properties of the tylenol was worrying him, and his little boy’s breathing didn’t sound a whole lot better either. He really didn’t want to have to take Tony to SHIELD medical, or any other doctor, so he just hoped against hope that he wasn’t too sick for Bruce to treat. 

Pepper picked up after only a single ring. “Steve? Are you back?” 

“I got back last night. I need to know - is Tony working on anything urgent for you at the moment?” 

“No,” Pepper refuted quickly. “I mean, there was the phone project, but there were three call-outs in a fortnight, and all of the other things he was doing, I told him that it could wait,” Pepper sounded confused as she mulled over events. “We’ve got at least a few weeks before the board will need to see that now.” 

“Good to know, thanks Pepper. We’ll talk to you later,” Steve made a motion to have JARVIS end the call, then turned his full attention back to Tony. “There, see, baby boy? No work to do, Pepper’s just fine. Why did you think you still had work to do?” 

“Her words said no, but her voice said yes,” Tony mumbled, voice sounding hoarser by the moment. “She was stressed, needed it so badly, I could hear it…” 

Steve suppressed a sigh. Littles were very in-tune to the emotions of people around them, just like real infants and toddlers. It was entirely possible that Pepper had been stressed - she had a high-stakes, high stress career. Still, Tony had heard the stress in her voice and assumed it was related to their current conversation, and therefore had put the expectation of relieving her stress on himself. 

“She might have been stressed, baby boy, but not about the phone,” he soothed gently. “So, no work to do. All you need to do is rest and get better, let Daddy take care of you, okay?” 

“O…Okay,” Tony mumbled. “Daddy? My ear hurts.” 

“I know it does, bunny. We’re going to get Bruce to come up and see you, see if he can do anything to help. Until then, we’re going to have another bottle, and maybe another sweat lodge too, I don’t like the sound of your breathing, and I think you hurt here too, don’t you,” he pressed lightly on Tony’s sinuses, and the whimper he received was answer enough. “Well, our sweat lodge will help with that, sweetheart. First, though, I think I know a little boy who needs his diaper changed.” 

~~~@@@~~~

Tony had fallen hard into headspace again after nearly forcing himself completely out of it. He’d gone totally non-verbal, something that only happened when he was absolutely tiny inside. He whined, cried, howled (particularly about the ‘sweat lodge’, which he loathed with a fiery passion) and whimpered, but not a single recognisable word passed his lips. 

Steve had called Bruce, and the man agreed to come as soon as he’d eaten and showered - no need to bring any excess germs with him when Tony was already so obviously immunocompromised. He was now in the elevator on his way up, and Steve was gently swaying with Tony’s head pillowed on his shoulder, trying to calm his last round of sweat lodge and coughing induced tears. 

The elevator door dinged open, and Tony twisted his head on Steve’s shoulder, looking to see who had come. He stiffened in Steve’s hold, twisting further away, and then seemed to find his voice again at last. 

“Unc’ Boos! ‘elp! ‘elp!” the words broke off in a fit of coughing, and Bruce, clearly hiding a smile, crossed the room to Steve’s side, reaching out to rest a hand on Tony’s forehead. 

“Help? What am I to help you with, Tony?” Bruce asked gently as he set down the small bag with his few medical tools. 

“Bad daddy,” Tony pushed against Steve’s chest with a scowl. “‘tinky. Don’ like it.” 

Bruce glanced at Steve with a raised eyebrow, and Steve responded with a wry smile, “We’ve been using eucalyptus paste in steam to help with congestion. Tony is…not a fan.” 

“I think he’s been a good daddy,” Bruce told Tony gently, receiving a look loaded with betrayal for this statement of support. “It’s hard to do things that are good for babies when it makes them so unhappy, but good daddies do it anyway. Your daddy is trying to help you feel better, baby boy.” 

“Don’ like it. Don’ like Boos eiver,” Tony whimpered twisting away from Bruce now to hide his face in the crook of his ‘bad daddy’s’ neck. 

Bruce suppressed another smile at Tony’s expense and instead went to work. What he found wasn’t good news. 

“He’s lost at least six pounds, based on physical changes,” he reported quietly to Steve. “He’d finally come close to a healthy weight range for his height, but he’s dropped well below it again. Do you still have the additional nutrition formula I recommended?” at Steve’s affirmative response, he continued, “two of his bottles every day should be made with that. As for this cold - fortunately for us, it is still a cold. Don’t get me wrong, it’s well on its way to forming into a chest infection, but we can still stop it right now. 

“Mostly by doing what you’re doing - food, sleep and medicine, but I can give you a few things that are more targeted than simple paracetamol, which should help. As much as he hates it, keep up the steam sessions. Also, rubbing it on his chest will help, so if you give him a bath before bed, rub some on his chest before you put him down, and put a washcloth over it to help it stay. Refresh it every time you put him down. He’s a bit dehydrated, so if you can give him some bottles of water as well as formula, but don’t force it - he’ll be queasy for a while, and too much fluid in his stomach can exacerbate that. If it gets too bad, we can hook him up to an IV, but in this state, that’s not a pleasant prospect, so we’ll try and avoid it if at all possible. 

“Okay, Tony,” Bruce rubbed a hand up and down Tony’s back, feeling the unnatural heat and the laboured breathing under his palm and hoping that they’d caught it in time, “Daddy’s going to take care of you, and I’ll be back to see you later, buddy, okay?” Tony peered at him out of one tear-filled eye, then turned away with a huff. 

“He’ll have forgiven you by the time you come back,” Steve reassured him softly. 

“Oh, I know, don’t worry. He’s just mad I didn’t ‘save him’ from stinky time. He’ll get over it.” Bruce smiled and moved towards the elevator. “I’ll send up those things, Steve. And I’ll bring something special for Tony next time I’m up.” Tony’s head turned towards him at that - not quite fast enough to be called a snap, but for a sick baby it was definitely fast reflexes. “I’ll see you later,” Bruce was almost through the elevator doors when Tony’s wail stopped him in his tracks. He turned back to see Tony struggling to reach him, and when he moved back within range, Tony grabbed him tight. 

“I…I sowwy,” Tony blubbered. “Wuv Boos!” 

“I know, baby boy, it’s okay,” Bruce soothed gently. “You’re just feeling yucky, I understand, it’s okay,” he soothed Tony for several long moments, then Steve managed to ease the baby away. He jerked his head to the elevator with a smile, and Bruce nodded in understanding. He left without an audible goodbye, so as not to disturb Tony once more, leaving him in Steve’s care. 

~~~@@@~~~

The next few days passed in rounds of bottles, baths and stinky steam. Tony had drifted through various depths of his Little headspace, but had never come close to surfacing after the first morning’s brief escape attempt. If Tony hadn’t been so sick, it would have been idyllic, the two of them existing in a little domestic bubble. As it was, it was mostly full of unhappy, sickly grizzling, coughing, some vomit, and a great deal of eucalyptus paste. 

Steve sat in the rocking chair, Tony slumped against his chest, the baby’s beloved teddy mashed between their bodies in a rather uncomfortable way. Tony hadn’t been sleeping well, and being like this was apparently all that allowed a decent nights rest. Not only was his breathing still badly congested, but the fever, which had yet to fully break, seemed to be contributing to some truly terrible nightmares which only seemed to ease when he was in physical contact with Steve. 

Steve was tired, but he’d managed to nap occasionally, and the serum did have some definite benefits when it came to physical stamina and health. He was in no danger of catching Tony’s cold, for one thing, and for another, he could go for significant periods without sleep, making caring for a sick baby much easier. Steve really didn’t know how other caregivers coped - he wasn’t sure he’d be able to without the serum. 

Bruce assured him that Tony was on the brink of improving, that keeping him from deteriorating had been their true struggle. With everything he had put his body and mind through in the past fortnight, the exhaustion, the hunger, the stress and the lack of ‘Little time’, Tony had been set for a truly terrible illness, but Steve’s patient care, combined with Bruce’s skill, had held it at bay. 

~~~@@@~~~   
Two days later, Tony woke up and his nose was clear. His chest didn’t hurt - much - and his tummy felt much better. He was lying in his crib, the head raised still to help him breathe, and he pushed himself up on his hands. 

Daddy wasn’t in the room - the first time he had woken up in days that the man hadn’t been there. He looked around the room, eyes growing wider and wider as he looked at what Daddy had made for him. It was beautiful. Everything he had ever dreamed of! He had a crib and - he blushed - a changing table. A big rocking chair in a corner by the window. There was an enormous toy chest by the window, but his teddy was with him in the crib. Whenever he had let himself imagine a nursery - which wasn’t often, not until recently - this was the sort of thing he had imagined. Then he saw the paintings on the walls, and a delighted laugh burbled up out of his chest. 

Dummy and Butterfingers and You were there, with other, less real, robots all playing together. He loved it. 

He didn’t hear Daddy come in, but a warm hand on his back caught his attention. 

“Hey there, baby boy. Looks like you’re feeling better today,” Daddy smiled down at him, and warmth bloomed in Tony’s chest. 

“Daddy!” he threw his arms up, hands grabbing, asking to be lifted. 

“Okay, okay, let me get this,” the side of the crib dropped down and Daddy lifted Tony out, letting him wrap his arms around his neck, burrowing in to him. “Hey, little bug. Yeah, I think you’re feeling much better. How about some solid food as well as a bottle for breakfast?” 

Together, they headed out of the nursery, finally fulfilling the homecoming wish both of them had separately shared, with Tony held tight in Steve’s arms, happy and content.


End file.
